


when the heart of this flower imagines the snow

by hihoplastic



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: “You know,” Pippa says, clutching her blanket tighter. “I’ve heard the best way to keep warm is to climb naked into a sleeping bag with someone else who’s naked.”





	when the heart of this flower imagines the snow

**Author's Note:**

> \- For anon and Matilda, who combined requested "hicsqueak + stranded due to inclement weather + i didn't mean to turn you on + bed sharing + huddling for warmth + big damn smooch"  
>  **\- TW: internalized homophobia, negative self talk**

“You know,” Pippa says, clutching her blanket tighter. “I’ve heard the best way to keep warm is to climb naked into a sleeping bag with someone else who’s naked.”

Hecate chokes on her tea. “Pippa!”

Beside her on the floor in front of the fire, Pippa grins. Or at least, Hecate thinks she’s grinning - her face is buried in her blanket, eyes peering out, sparkling with mirth.

Hecate feels her cheeks burn, and for the first time in hours, she’s glad there’s no light. Nothing but the crackling fire to give her away, and she hopes Pippa will simply attribute her suddenly scarlet face to its warmth.

It’s not that the idea is unwelcome - they’re both still shivering, the storm having knocked out the electricity in Pippa’s cottage, its magical nature rendering their own ability to cast almost useless. Hecate has managed to keep the fire going, but beyond that, she’s drained and exhausted and it’s all too reminiscent of the last time she lost her magic, and almost her home.

She thinks Pippa knows this. Knows how easily she gets lost in her thoughts, and keeps the conversation light.

But the image is in her head now, the two of them, curled up together, and Hecate has to clench her jaw to keep from feeling everything she isn’t supposed to feel.

Pippa is her  _friend_ —for the first time in 35 years, she feels comfortable saying that. Feels at ease in her presence again. Doesn’t feel like a burden.

It’s why she accepted Pippa’s offer in the first place, to spend a few days in her seaside cabin, just the two of them.

She thought she could handle it. Thought being around Pippa constantly wouldn’t make her chest ache or her fingers itch the way they used to. Wouldn’t make her stomach flip every time Pippa smiles or her breathing hitch every time Pippa brushes a hand over her arm or back.

 _Fool_ , she thinks to herself.

She’s been an utter fool, and now they’re here, in the dark with only a flickering fire for warmth, the howl of a treacherous storm the only sound, and Pippa, trying to lighten the mood. Trying to distract her. Trying to help.

And all she wants is for it to be real.

Pippa sighs and pokes her head out from the blankets, looking apologetic. “It was just a joke, Hecate,” she says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She is, uncomfortable, but for all the wrong reasons.

Hecate shakes her head. “It’s not that. I’m unsure how much longer I can keep the fire going.”

It’s not a lie, but it is a deflection, and Pippa frowns. “Are you alright?”

“Just tired.”

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep, and I’ll take over for a bit?”

“That won’t be necessary. Perhaps in a few hours.”

“If you’re sure,” Pippa says, and Hecate can hear the concern in her voice. Where it once made her bristle, now it soothes.

She tries to smile.

Pippa distracts her with a debate on modern magic, and she does her best to keep her tone equally light as she pokes fun at Pippa’s theories on modernized potions and chanting.

Pippa laughs and shoots back about traditionalism, but she notes with seriousness that she hates the way it lets some students slip through the cracks.

Hecate groans, thinking she’s talking about Mildred Hubble; but Pippa shakes her head.

“I’m talking about you.”

Hecate blinks. “Me?”

Pippa nods. “You control your magic like no one I’ve ever met,” she says. “But your teachers didn’t show you that. You had to learn on your own. We need teachers for all kinds of students, not just traditional ones.”

Hecate thinks about arguing - she wasn’t special, and therefore needed no special attention - but Pippa’s eyes are drooping and her smile is sleepy, so Hecate merely sighs.

“I suppose.”

Pippa clicks her tongue. “I’ll convince you one day,” she says. “After I sleep.”

Hecate snorts, but nods, and shifts so Pippa can extricate herself from their bundle of blankets. She doesn’t go far, curling up in front of the fire and pats the space next to her.

“You should lay down, too. It’ll be a long night.”

Hecate protests - more out of fear of being so close to Pippa than anything else - but Pippa pouts, biting her lip.

“It’ll be warmer if we stay close,” she says, and gives a dramatic shiver.

Hecate rolls her eyes, but she can’t say no - the thought of Pippa, cold and alone, is enough to make her give up her position, laying down on her back. Pippa doesn’t touch her, but she stays close, facing Hecate, hands under her head.

“Wake me when it’s my turn with the fire,” she mumbles.

Hecate nods, but Pippa is already asleep, expression evened out, and she looks so peaceful, so beautiful, Hecate looks away.

She can’t stand any of this.

Rolling over on her side, her back to Pippa, Hecate stares at a spot on the wall, and listens to the storm rage outside.

—

Hecate doesn’t sleep.

She can feel Pippa pressed against her back, warm and snoring softly.

It’s too much. There are thick blankets between them and yet Hecate feels like her skin is on fire. Feels every point of contact between their bodies, and she wants.

Wants to turn over and gather Pippa close. Wants to run her hands through her hair. Wants to touch her, and see her smile.

Sometimes, she wants Pippa so badly it hurts. A knot that forms in her chest and radiates pain through her muscles, her throat, her jaw.

She wants more. Wants lazy Sunday mornings and long walks hand in hand, more mirror chats and more weekends and more words.

She doesn’t feel like this often - can’t remember the last time she truly wanted to touch someone. To kiss someone. To feel someone else’s hands on her body. To feel vulnerable around them.

Around Pippa.

But it’s wrong. It was wrong when they were teenagers and it’s wrong now and she won’t, not for anything, jeopardize the friendship she has with Pippa now. Not even for her own happiness.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts it takes a moment before she registers the motion behind her. Hecate freezes, and turns to peer over her shoulder.

“Pippa?”

Pippa mumbles something in her sleep, and Hecate rolls over onto her back to better see Pippa’s face, to make sure she’s alright.

Before she has the chance, Pippa turns into her, tucks her face into the crook of Hecate’s neck and throws a leg over Hecate’s, flush against her, her arm slinging heavily over Hecate’s waist.

She snuffles a few times, then goes quiet.

Hecate freezes. Her body tenses, every muscle pulled taut and confused and she doesn’t know what to do. Whether she should wake Pippa, push her away, let her stay.

It means nothing, she tells herself.

It’s dark and cold and Pippa is merely seeking out the closest warmth.

The thought doesn’t comfort her. Instead, to her utter horror, it makes her eyes well up, tears clinging to her lashes that she refuses to let fall.

Pippa sighs, her breath floating over Hecate’s collarbone, and Hecate squeezes her eyes shut.

—

She falls asleep at some point, and wakes to complete darkness. The fire has gone out, and yet somehow, she isn’t as cold as she’d expect. Feels warm and somehow safe, despite their circumstances.

She shifts slightly and closes her eyes, thinking another hour or so won’t hurt; and then she feels something heavy on her leg, her chest, her shoulder.

Pippa.

She’s curled around Hecate even more so than when she fell asleep, half on top of her now, a hand on Hecate’s breast. For her own part, Hecate’s looped her arm around Pippa’s waist, holding her close, and despite the layers of clothes and blankets between them, Hecate feels her touch like a brand.

Her stomach knots and her throat goes dry and she blinks, tries to make out Pippa’s shape but she can’t. It should be oppressive, should, she thinks, be terrifying - she’s never liked being smothered, never been fond of so much physical contact, but this time it’s soft and warm and safe and Pippa.

And she loves her.

Loves her so much, sometimes Hecate thinks there’s no more room for it in her chest. No place else for it to go. It presses against her rib cage and wants out, out, out but she never lets it. Keeps it close because if she doesn’t she’ll ruin everything, again.

She always ruins everything.

Always feels too much.

Wants too much.

Hecate bites her lip and squeezes her eyes shut, motionless in the dark, hyper aware of every place her body touches Pippa’s. Aware that it’s not enough.

There’s a sob crawling its way up the back of her throat and she forces it down, tries to take even, measured breaths but they’re shallow and shaky and every time her lungs expand she feels Pippa’s hand, so innocent, and yet it makes her stomach clench and her face feel hot with shame and desire.

It’s been so long she almost doesn’t recognize the wanting for what it is. But as Pippa snuffles in her sleep, nuzzling her nose against Hecate’s neck, she can’t stop herself from trailing her hand up and down Pippa’s spine. She tells herself its to calm and comfort, but she knows that in reality, she wishes. Wishes there were no barriers between them. Wishes she could feel Pippa’s skin against her own.

She sniffs, can’t quite stop a few tears from falling, sliding down into her hair. Her body shudders with the repressed sob, and she’s grateful for the storm that drowns out the smallest sound.

“Hiccup?”

Pippa’s breath ghosts across her cheek, and Hecate stiffens, her hand stilling, hovering an inch away from Pippa’s back.

“Everything’s fine, Pippa. Go back to sleep.”

Pippa shifts against her, a hand fumbling across her cheek, thumb brushing her temple.

“You’re crying.”

There’s a fizzle of magic in the air, and the fire lights, casting a dim glow, and Pippa is staring down at her, a worried frown on her face.

“It’s nothing,” she manages. “I’m fine.”

Pippa looks so concerned, but also sleepy - her hair tousled and eyes half lidded, the blanket askew.

“You don’t look fine.”

Hecate tries to smile. “A bad dream. Nothing of note.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hecate shakes her head. “I’d rather not.”

Pippa nods, hesitates, then leans down and presses a kiss to Hecate’s forehead.

“For protection,” she says, pulling back with a sheepish smile.

Hecate’s heart cracks.

Against her own judgement, her hand reaches out and tucks Pippa’s hair behind her ear, feels a spark when her fingers brush her cheek.

Pippa stares at her, eyes wide, and she knows. She has to know, and Hecate yanks her hand away, tries to sit up, to untangle herself from the blankets.

“Hecate. Hecate, stop.”

She can’t, not until she’s away, out of this room and away from Pippa’s kind, suddenly understanding eyes and her warm hands, pulling her back.

“Hiccup—“

Hecate shakes her head. “Pippa, please, don’t—“

Two hands cup her cheeks and turn her head and there are lips over hers and it’s strange and uncomfortable and surreal because Pippa is kissing her, so light, but with so much intention. Hecate gasps, rearing back, and Pippa’s hands fall away.

“Hiccup?”

“You—why did you do that?”

There’s no way Pippa doesn’t hear the strangled emotion in her tone, the way her words crack and splinter, but she smiles, smiles so gently, and reaches for Hecate’s hand.

“Because I wanted to,” she murmurs. And then, even quieter, “I’ve always wanted to.”

Pippa stares at her and Hecate stares back, a million thoughts and doubts and insecurities jumbled in her head and  _just this once, just once, use your heart instead._

Hecate listens.

Lunges forward and holds Pippa’s cheeks in her palms and kisses her, and Pippa squeaks, then melts against her, mouth opening under Hecate’s and her arms winding tight around Hecate’s neck.

They kiss until they’re breathless, until Hecate’s hands are trembling and her skin is warm and when she pulls back far enough to see Pippa’s face, she’s smiling. Smiling so wide, fingers drifting through Hecate’s hair.

“Hiccup.”

Hecate shudders, at the warmth in her voice, the tenderness - she dares not call it love, but it’s something close to that.

“Pippa,” she tries. “Pippa, I—“

Pippa shushes her with a kiss. “I know.”


End file.
